


Tilting at Windmills

by Lbilover



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Invasion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9431759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lbilover/pseuds/Lbilover
Summary: Casey wants to save the world. What Zeke wants is Casey.





	

The thing was dead. What remained of it- a Dali-esque puddle of liquefying bones and gooey, neon-green viscera- steamed in the hot July sun, giving off an indescribably putrid stench. 

Casey dropped the butcher knife, stumbled over to the bushes, fell to his hands and knees and started heaving. Zeke tried not to breathe through his nose as he followed after the younger boy and knelt down beside him. It was only through sheer force of will that he managed to keep his own queasiness under control.

“You okay?” Zeke asked when Casey had finished bringing up the contents of his stomach. He rested a hand lightly on Casey’s damp back; sweat had soaked right through the white tee shirt and oversized plaid button-down he wore. He looked so fucking defenseless and young kneeling there with his head drooping, but what Zeke had witnessed moments earlier gave the lie to that impression. 

He’d been conscious this time while Casey faced down the many-tentacled monster that had taken up lodging in the body of a kindly white-haired old lady who looked like she wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose, much less eviscerate and suck the blood out of her victims, leaving their mummified corpses behind. Now he knew what Marybeth must have seen in Casey’s eyes, right before he stabbed her with a scat pen. 

And the truth was, it scared the shit out of him- on a number of different levels. 

Casey was ashen beneath the streaks of perspiration and flush of exertion, but as he looked up he forced his pallid lips into a parody of smile and said, “I’m okay.” Then he added, in a lame attempt at humor, “Guess I shouldn’t have had that burrito for lunch, huh?”

“C’mon.” Zeke helped Casey to his feet. “We’ve done what we came to do, now let’s pick up our shit and get the fuck out of here.”

They didn’t speak as they walked single file along a twisting path through the woods, heading back to the dirt road where they’d left the GTO parked, about half a mile away in the shade of a disused, graffiti-covered railroad trestle. On the walk in, following the trail of the creature, Zeke’s heart had been pounding so hard that it had drowned out every other sound. Now he could hear birds singing and the stirring of leaves from a welcome breeze that was cool on his overheated skin. 

This was what his life would be like from now on, Zeke thought with a sort of horrified bemusement. Minutes of pulse-racing fear and a heightened sense of awareness, followed by an adrenaline crash and a realization that while the rest of the planet was going about its usual business, he was floundering through some fucked-up netherworld where things that went bump in the night really existed, even in the bright light of day. 

When they got back to the car, Zeke opened the trunk and tossed in the olive drab duffle bag that held their supplies, which consisted of several dozen scat pens, some water, a first-aid kit, a selection of kitchen knives of varying length and sharpness, the gun Zeke had used to kill Principal Drake, and a box of cartridges. One thing was clear: they were woefully unprepared for their new lives as alien killers, and as far as he knew the bookstores didn’t stock _The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Alien Fighting_ , including a tidy checklist of recommended weapons. The biggest weapon they’d had in their arsenal this time was dumb luck.

Casey removed one of the water bottles from the bag and unscrewed the cap. He rinsed his mouth out several times, spitting carefully to the side so as not to splatter the GTO’s shiny black paint, and then took a long drink, arm raised, head tilted back, throat convulsing.

“ _Shit_.” The word emerged involuntarily.

“What?” Casey jerked to attention and looked warily around, as if expecting to see some new horror lurking in the shadows of the trestle. “What’s wrong?”

“Your arm, Case.” There was a raw, oozing weal like a whip mark running the length of Casey’s right arm from wrist to elbow, garish red on his pale skin. Zeke found himself suddenly shaking inside at this graphic reminder of how close Casey had come to losing the fight. But this was no red badge of courage, no medal of honor; what it was, was totally, deeply fucked up. He and Casey should both have their fucking heads examined- Casey for deciding it was his mission to save the world from evil, and Zeke for coming along for the ride.

“What’s wrong with my arm?” Casey craned his head around to examine it. Pale red fluid was dripping into the dirt from the sharp point of his elbow. “Geez, I didn’t even notice. The thing must have hit me with one of its tentacles.” He tipped the bottle and dribbled some water over the weal. “Fuck,” he gasped, dropping the water.

Zeke shook his head in exasperation and grabbed the first-aid kit. “That’s no way to clean a wound. Fuck only knows what kind of weird germs and shit were in those suckers.” 

They’d bought the small first-aid kit at a local drugstore, and it was as pitifully inadequate as their weapons. But Zeke did the best he could, tearing open an antiseptic wipe and carefully cleaning Casey’s arm, hyper-aware of every wince and how white Casey’s small teeth were, biting into the fullness of his lower lip. Discarding the now red-tinged square pad, he opened another one, and cleaned the wound a second time. Who knew- maybe the stinging pain would bring Casey to his senses. 

“Guess you weren’t tilting at windmills after all, Casey,” Zeke said a minute later, “but I still think you’re the craziest motherfucker I’ve ever met.” The harshness of his voice was at odds with his gentle touch as he applied triple antibiotic ointment along the length of the weal. He had grasped Casey’s upper arm in his other hand to steady it, long fingers sliding up into the gap between skin and fabric; his nerve endings tingled from the warmth of Casey’s flesh, tender as a baby’s bottom over a core of surprisingly hard muscle.

It was hot and close beneath the railroad trestle. While it sheltered them from the merciless beat of the sun, it also cut off the breeze. The air was thick with humidity and smelled faintly of cat piss and the acrid tarry odor of treated lumber, but compared to the smoldering mess they’d left behind in the woods it was sweet as a bouquet of roses. 

Zeke continued to rub the antibiotic ointment into the angry-looking weal in tiny, precise circles, long after he could have stopped. It wasn’t simply the erotic charge the contact gave him, or how the arousing smell that radiated from Casey’s body, musky sweat mingled with chain motel soap and shampoo, had Zeke’s dick pulsing behind the fly of his jeans. In the aftermath of that battle in the woods he _needed_ to take care of Casey, needed to touch him and reassure himself that the young man was okay. In truth he craved much more than reassurance- it was definitely true what they said about soldiers after a battle, Zeke thought, as an image of Casey writhing beneath him on the hood of the GTO flashed into his mind- but he’d settle for this, if he had to.

Casey was silent and passive in Zeke’s hold, although it was obvious that Zeke was playing for time, but his narrow chest was rising and falling rapidly. He kept his head bent and his attention seemed focused on Zeke’s circling fingers.

Suddenly Casey snapped his head up, and those blue, blue eyes impaled Zeke as surely as a scat-filled Bic. “Why’d you decide to come with me, Zeke?” he asked.

This was what scared the shit out of Zeke: Casey’s unblinking stare and the remorseless demand it made. _I want the truth, and only the truth. No bullshit._

An unlikely friendship had blossomed between them since the invasion, but if it had grown into something more on Casey’s part, he’d hidden it well. Not surprising, Zeke supposed, for a kid who had spent years as everyone’s favorite punching bag, but hell if you’d fallen hard for the punching bag. Therefore he gave avoidance his best shot; he was Zeke Tyler after all, and his nature demanded it. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a superhero’s sidekick,” Zeke said lightly.

But Casey wasn’t buying it. He just continued to stare, the remorseless little shit, while he waited for Zeke to give him what he wanted: the truth.

~~~

 _’You’re out of your fucking mind,’ Zeke yelled, waving the handful of letters in Casey’s face. ‘These people are out of their fucking minds. How can you believe a word of this shit?’ He threw the letters down and kicked at them, scattering a dozen pages of notebook paper that no matter the handwriting or the color of the ink, held the same desperate plea:_ There’s something strange going on in our town. Please help us. __

_Casey’s jaw set in a stubborn line as he scrambled to gather up the pages. ‘You don’t know that they’re lying.’_

_‘Right. And Santa Claus really comes down the chimney every Christmas Eve saying ‘Ho ho ho’. You aren’t a fucking superhero named Alien Killer Man, Casey. Pull your head out of your ass and face the truth.’_

_‘What truth?” Casey glared up at him, his eyes fierce as some bird of prey. 'That there are no aliens? Then what about Marybeth, Zeke? Was she a lie? Or are you gonna pretend the invasion never happened, too, like my mom and dad and everyone else who was infected?’_

_There was no answer for that; like Casey, Zeke was freaked out ten ways to Sunday by the sort of collective amnesia that afflicted the students, teachers and townspeople who had been Marybeth’s victims. Well, he might have lost this particular battle, but he hadn’t lost the war yet. He switched tactics._

_‘So you’re going to give up a full scholarship to OSU for a career in alien hunting? What, you’re missing your fifteen minutes of fame? Wasn’t being on the cover of Time and Newsweek once good enough for you?’ Zeke taunted him. ‘Are you that much of an attention whore, Casey?’_

_‘Fuck you, Zeke. That hasn’t got anything to do with it.’ Casey held up the crumpled fistful of letters. His hand was trembling. ‘But someone’s gotta help these people before it’s too late. I can’t just stand by and do nothing, not after what almost happened in Herrington.’_

_Zeke ignored the mute appeal for understanding in Casey’s eyes. He had never been so pissed off in his entire life. Casey was the first real friend he’d ever had, and he was pretty damn sure he was the first real friend Casey had ever had. They had both been accepted to OSU, and Zeke had fantasized about them being roommates, studying and hanging out together, the way best friends did. Casey had just trampled all over Zeke’s fragile plans, with the finesse of an elephant in a flower garden. And worst of all, most hurtful of all, he hadn’t invited Zeke to be a part of his own new plans. The little fucker hadn’t even consulted him, just presented him with a fait accompli: ‘I’m going to save the world, Zeke. See ya later, old buddy.’_

_Zeke made a disbelieving noise in his throat. ‘Fine. Go tilt at your fucking windmills, Casey. But don’t come whining to me when you discover you’ve wasted the best years of your life believing a bunch of bullshit fed to you by delusionals and pathological liars.’_

_Casey slowly lowered his arm. ‘I thought you’d have more faith in my judgment, Zeke,’ he said quietly. ‘In fact, I thought you’d…’ He bit his lip and didn’t go on._

_‘In fact, you thought I’d_ what _?’ Zeke asked in a surly voice. ‘Say ‘what a great idea, Casey, go ahead and flush your fucking life down the toilet trying to be a hero’? Sorry to disappoint you. Fuck, I bet your parents don’t have a clue what you’re up to, do they?’_

_‘So, what if they don’t?’ Casey said defensively. ‘I’m eighteen now, Zeke, and what I do with my life is none of their business.’_

_‘You should tell them, Case,’ Zeke drawled. ‘I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know their son suffers from a case of arrested development and thinks he can be a fucking superhero. Your mom would probably sew you a nice outfit- you know, with little shorts and tights and a cape. In pink.’_

_Casey flushed. ‘Fuck you, Zeke.’_

_Zeke just shook his head in disgust. ‘So, when’s Alien Killer Man flying off to save the world?’ he asked._

_‘Friday morning. I’m taking the bus to Chicago.’_

_‘You’re going by_ bus _?’ Zeke rolled his eyes in disbelief. ‘And then what are you going to do? Hitchhike?’_

_‘If I have to,’ Casey said stubbornly. ‘I don’t have a car.’_

_‘You’re fucking nuts, Casey, you know that?’_

_‘Maybe, but I’m going anyway.’_

_‘Yeah, well, be sure and send me a postcard sometimes. Keep me up-to-date on the world saving you’re doing,’ Zeke said sarcastically, but obviously he hadn’t done as good a job of disguising his feelings as he’d thought, for Casey said quietly, ‘I’m sorry, Zeke.’_

_‘Fuck you, Casey. Fuck. You.’ The apology hurt worse than anything. ‘Just go on and get the hell out of here, would you?’_

_And then Casey did something that stunned Zeke. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Zeke’s waist and hugged him. Hard. ‘I’m gonna miss you,’ he whispered._

_By the time Zeke recovered his wits, Casey was gone. Zeke stood there, blinking fast against the treacherous moisture in his eyes, and his heart ached as it hadn’t since he was a child, before he’d learned to be indifferent to his parents’ neglect. ‘Fuck this shit,’ he said aloud to the empty room. ‘I don’t need Casey Connor. I don’t need anyone.’_

_Zeke maintained his righteous anger for the rest of the day, but in the morning, after a sleepless night, he wandered moodily through the house, ending up in his scat lab, where he admitted to himself he’d been headed all along._

_Speculatively, he sized up the situation: some of his equipment had survived Delilah’s rampage, but not enough to brew any scat. He’d have to make a supply run to the high school, Zeke decided. He couldn’t in good conscience allow Casey to go on his merry way without some means of defending himself, on the off chance that one of those batshit crazy letters he’d gotten held some actual truth. It would be like sending a lamb to the slaughter. There was the gun, too… he’d have to clean it and make sure it was in working order. Of course, when push came to shove Casey hadn’t been able to bring himself to use it, but it would make Zeke feel better to know he was carrying it all the same._

_By Thursday evening, Zeke had brewed a shit-load of scat and prepped the gun, but he had also emptied his savings account, freshly washed and waxed the GTO, hit the supermarket to stock up on junk food, dumped all his chemistry textbooks into a box, and done a mountain of laundry._

_At some point he stopped deluding himself about what this frenetic outburst of cleaning and shopping really meant, and carried a large suitcase down from the attic and starting throwing clothes into it. That impulsive hug Casey had given him was imprinted on Zeke’s body like a brand. He jerked off in the shower Thursday morning while he imagined that his soapy hand was Casey’s dick sliding hot and slick against his own. As he leaned spent and panting against the cool tile and watched the pearly strings of his come wash down the drain, Zeke admitted the truth: he didn’t just want Casey for a friend, he wanted him for a lover, too, and no way in hell was he going to let Casey leave Herrington alone. So he had to adjust his plans for the future. So fucking what. Not everyone needed to go to college._

_When Zeke arrived at the bus station on Friday morning, Casey was waiting on a bench outside with his messenger bag on the seat beside him and a black nylon rolling suitcase at his feet. His camera was hanging around his neck, he was sucking on a box of Minute Maid orange juice, and he was wearing his usual outfit of trainers, too long jeans and an oversized plaid shirt._

_He looked like a total geek, not a guy who had saved the world from aliens once already and was setting out to do it again; but any remaining shred of doubt that that geek was now the center of Zeke’s universe vanished the moment he set eyes on him. Even if Casey ended up tilting at windmills, Zeke knew he would gladly act the Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote._

_Casey frowned when the GTO rumbled to a halt opposite him. ‘I’m not changing my mind,’ he stated._

_‘I know.’ Zeke tried not to smile as he jerked his head in a come-hither motion. Casey was such a stubborn little prick. ‘C’mon, get in the car, Alien Killer Man. Superheroes don’t do buses, in case no one told you.’_

_Casey warily considered Zeke’s invitation for a few seconds, and then without a word tossed the juice box into a wire trash can and got to his feet. Zeke made no move to help Casey as he wrestled his heavy suitcase into the back seat of the car, figuring he could use the exercise to build up his arm muscles. A few minutes later, Casey slid into the front seat beside him, deposited his messenger bag on the floor between his feet, and reached for his seatbelt._

_‘So, what’s our first stop?’ Zeke asked nonchalantly._

_‘Colorado,’ Casey said. His eyes were shining._

_‘That’s a fucking long way to go to tilt at a windmill, Casey.’ But Zeke put the GTO in gear and floored it, leaving Herrington behind without a backward glance. The only thing Herrington contained that he gave a shit about was already in the car with him._

~~~

Zeke recalled that shining look in Casey’s eyes, and the aborted question he’d begun: _In fact, I thought you’d…_ What had Casey been going to say? _I thought you’d want to come with me, Zeke?_ Had he made his plans assuming that Zeke would ask to be a part of them? Zeke had a sudden feeling that Casey had been two steps ahead of him all along, and this insight gave him the nerve to do what he’d been too much of a coward to do since they set out for Colorado a week earlier. 

His circling fingers stilled on Casey’s forearm; his hand moved, reaching around to cup the back of Casey’s skull, fingers sliding into a sweat-dampened tangle of soft auburn hair. He stared down into Casey’s eyes, eyes that he had once considered weird as shit- too prominent, too blue, and far too observant of the weaknesses of others- including that supreme fuck-up, Zeke Tyler. 

But Zeke had been wrong about Casey’s eyes, as he’d been wrong about everything else relating to Casey Connor. Those eyes were in fact the windows to a soul that was brave, honest and fiercely uncompromising. The wonder of it was that Casey seemingly found something of worth about Zeke when he looked inside him, for as he returned Zeke’s searching gaze, the intense blue of his eyes deepened from cobalt to midnight, and he stepped closer and tilted back his head, though Zeke’s hand had not urged him.

The first light brush of their mouths was a truth more profound than any words. 

“Case…” Zeke breathed against his lips in awe, but Casey swallowed his name, making a needy sound deep in his throat as he opened his mouth and deepened their kiss. Casey’s mouth was all hot wet silk, and softer than that of any girl Zeke had ever kissed. He couldn’t get enough of it, and even the faint taste of sick lingering in Casey’s mouth wasn’t a turn-off, for it was a reminder that, despite the nightmarish encounter in the woods, Casey had survived. 

Casey rose on tiptoe to mould his sweat-damp body to Zeke’s front like a second skin, as if he knew how that first, impulsive hug had rocked Zeke’s world. His fingers dug painfully hard into Zeke’s shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises. Zeke in return held nothing back, pushing Casey up against the side of the GTO and pinning him there, his hands roughly gripping either side of Casey’s head, his elbows braced on the car window as they continued to kiss. 

Impatiently, Zeke shoved his right thigh between Casey’s legs, where it lodged against the hard ridge that was pressing against the zipper of the younger boy’s Levi’s. Casey shifted to rub his dick back and forth along the taut muscle of Zeke’s thigh, while he made that guttural, needy sound again, and then again. 

That earlier image of Casey writhing beneath him on the hood of the GTO flashed through Zeke’s mind, and he maneuvered them awkwardly sideways until he could lift Casey onto the warm metal and cover him with his body. The hood gave beneath their combined weight with a hollow sound that echoed through the enclosed space. The potential damage to his beloved GTO, painstakingly restored from a flaming ruin, didn’t even register with Zeke through the haze of arousal that enveloped him. Casey’s legs had wrapped tightly around his waist, bringing their groins into intimate contact, while his hands had slid up under the front of Zeke’s faded tee shirt and were palming his peaked nipples, the heels pressing and circling. 

“Shit, Casey,” Zeke gasped, as an electric jolt shot straight to his dick and he felt a growing wet spot on his boxers. “Slow down. We don’t want to come in our clothes.” 

It was almost impossibly difficult to shove their jeans and boxers out of the way when they kept losing their purchase on the highly waxed black paint. Casey didn’t help matters by refusing to relinquish his hold on Zeke, and distractingly sucking on his tongue. But somehow, slipping and squirming and swearing, they managed it, and Zeke’s imagination had totally failed to envision just how mind-blowingly perfect Casey’s dick would feel, sliding hot and slick against his own. 

They started rocking blindly against each other, and Casey grabbed Zeke’s hand and forced it downward until he could wrap it around their dicks. Then he covered it with his own, lacing their fingers together to form a tight sheath. The sensation was nearly unbearable; Zeke wrenched his mouth away and buried his face in the side of Casey’s neck, a litany of _shit shit shit shit shit_ escaping his lips as his hips jerked erratically and the intensely blissful agony of his climax neared. 

In Zeke’s experience, it was physically impossible for two people to come at the exact same time- the sort of bullshit promulgated by women’s magazines or sappy paperback romances- but then he’d never made love with Casey Connor before. Just as a final, clipped, ‘Fuck!’ escaped Zeke, a sharp cry burst from Casey’s lips, and simultaneously their come dribbled sticky and hot over their laced fingers, and exultation filled Zeke’s soul.

When he finally raised his head, Zeke found Casey staring at him with a dazed expression. His mouth open and shut several times, but he seemed unable to form a single coherent word, a circumstance that delighted Zeke no end, for it wasn’t easy to discompose Casey Connor. Zeke was grinning as he used the hem of his tee shirt to mop up the mess, and feeling pretty smug. But Casey predictably had one more surprise in store for him. 

Zeke froze and his grin vanished as Casey cradled the side of his face with his left hand, and smoothed his thumb along the line of Zeke’s cheekbone. The tenderness of the simple gesture undid him; no one had ever touched Zeke that way, not ever, and the last person on earth he’d ever thought would offer him such a touch was Casey, who had spent most of his life as a human punching bag. 

“Thank you for coming with me, Zeke,” Casey said, “especially when you thought I was just gonna be tilting at windmills.” That unblinking stare was holding Zeke spellbound again. “That means a lot to me, you know?”

“Yeah, well, I figured there was an outside chance you might not be fucking nuts after all, Alien Killer Man, and maybe I’d really get to be a superhero’s sidekick,” Zeke said gruffly, but he turned his head and tenderly kissed the palm of Casey’s hand. Hell, he couldn’t let Casey be the only one willing to take a risk.

“A superhero’s sidekick, huh?” A sly look stole into Casey’s eyes. “Guess that means you’re gonna need a costume, too,” he said thoughtfully. “I bet you’ll look totally kick ass in hot pink tights, Zeke.”

Their playful wrestling sent them sliding off the hood of the GTO and onto their bare asses in the dirt, but they were both laughing much too hard to care.

~end~


End file.
